


Someone Who Cares

by cheshirecatstrut



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 21:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15591285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirecatstrut/pseuds/cheshirecatstrut
Summary: Veronica's home from Stanford for the summer, helping Keith solve cases. Logan's a client with a surprisingly wholesome dilemma.Originally posted as a birthday fic on VMHQ for the lovely llarallama.





	Someone Who Cares

She knows what happened.

Veronica sits back, squints against the fading light streaming gemlike through stained-glass windows. It’s well past closing at Mars Investigations, coming up on seven–but she got so jazzed, parsing this supposedly-uncrackable case, she lost track of time. So PUMPED, when she realized the car must have driven right UNDER the surveillance camera in the Youth Center lot; and the reason the film is damaged is not because Deputy Drayden’s clumsy while retrieving evidence. It’s because he’s GUILTY.

God, she wishes the Psych homework that overwhelms her school-year was as stimulating as catching bad guys. Or stimulating at ALL. Sometimes, at Stanford, she feels like she’s slowly suffocating, a bug trapped under glass; and summer, when she staggers home to work for her dad, is the only time this grey oppression lifts.

The bell over their door dings, out in the anteroom, and Veronica shoves back from Dad’s desk. It’s probably the Big Kahuna himself, wondering why she’s not home yet, or bringing her something to eat. She hopes the latter; in all the excitement today, she managed to skip lunch. And as stated, it’s seven, so she’s freaking starving.

But the visitor hesitating with a strange lack of confidence on the threshold is not her windbreaker-wearing Dad. It’s Logan Echolls, who she hasn’t seen in nearly two years, holding a Manila folder and the leash of an….enormous pet fox?

“Hey.” He glances bashfully at the floor, then back up; she’s still unsure if he realizes how reliably this trick charms. He gestures with the paper-filled folder. “It’s been a while.”

“Hey,” she replies, a bit shy herself. Because DANG if he doesn’t look fabulous, all clean-shaven and damp-haired, in a snug blue Corona Extra tee and frayed jeans. He’s studying her steadily now, his gaze hard to meet, so she kneels and offers her knuckles to the animal. “If I’d known we were reenacting The Fox and the Hound, I would have brought Backup to work.”

Logan laughs. The creature ducks its head, a swift and unexpected move, into the hollow of Veronica’s palm. Then smiles, panting, up at her as she scratches between its ears. It has bright blue eyes, alert and missing nothing, and she can’t help feeling charmed.

“She’s a Spizky, actually.” Veronica glances up and finds him watching with amusement. “Half-Spitz, half-Husky, or that’s the pound’s best guess. Adopting her out was a struggle, because she’s so smart and active. I’ve taught her twenty-six tricks over the last year, to keep her busy, and she can also surf a little.”

“Show me number seventeen.” Veronica dusts her knees as she stands. The twitch at the corner of his mouth morphs into a real grin, and he unsnaps the leash. Whistles while twirling his index finger, which prompts the dog to balance on her hind legs and spin.

“Good pirouette, Doris.” He waits for her to sit before tossing a treat from his pocket. Doris the Spitzky-fox devours it whole, then breaks out again in a sunny canine smile.

“So she’s why I’m here, actually.” He runs a hand through his hair, while Veronica makes kissy-faces at the dog, and Doris winds around her legs. “I’m about to acquire a roommate who’s allergic, and I need to find her a good home. I’ve got a bunch of applications, because you know…celebutante gives away dog, everyone wants a piece. I was hoping you could run background checks? Tell me which of these people are decent humans, since sensibly judging character isn’t my forte.”

The dog settles, leaning against his leg, and he smiles down at her, curling a huge hand around her skull. It’s so tender—he obviously loves his pet. V feels a pang, remembering how she used to unfurl like a morning glory when he was equally tender with her. “Seems like you and Doris are simpatico,” is all she says, though. “Kind of a shame to give away a dog you love, when it’s not like you need help paying rent.”

“Well, of course Doris is my girl– you know I like the clever, difficult ones best.” He smiles at the Spitzky, then Veronica, ghosts of shared history passing between them. “But she sheds a lot, and chews shoes, and pines when I go on trips without her. And even a refitted closet and weekly maid service couldn’t convince—“he glances away, takes a breath, “—my girlfriend the three of us living together would work.”

_Ah,_ Veronica thinks, _of course. Of course Logan has a lady-friend with marital designs, he’s NEVER single._ “Fashion plate, huh?” she asks lightly, her smile fading from ‘friendly’ to ‘professional’.  With a wave, she ushers him back towards Dad’s office. He follows, and Doris trails along after, locating Backup’s cushion next to the desk and curling atop, front paws neatly crossed. “Nobody hates tooth marks in leather like a girl who buys Prada.”

“A lot of her stuff comes from a stylist,” Logan explains, apologetic, as he sits in the guest chair. “So it’s worn once, then returned. And Monica can’t…you know how it goes when you’re a household name. Take a trip to the grocery store with an over-full stomach, or covered in pet hair, and the tabloids have a field day for a month.”

“Two of my worst and most persistent problems.” Veronica holds out a hand for the folder, sets it beside her as she pulls up Prying Eyez. “I can do quick-and-dirty searches now, but you’ve got–“she does a brief count, “—sixty-three applications here, so it’s gonna take a while. Want to stop by tomorrow, or meet at a café? I’ll bring along a tidy summary, which I’ll trade you for a check.”

“If that’s how you want to handle this, I’m game.” He entwines his hands on one knee like he’s fighting to keep still. “But if you’re planning to work late…I could grab some dinner and come back? Monica’s got a show at eleven, my evening’s free. If you haven’t eaten, I’d be happy to treat you.”

“Thai Palace?” Veronica lifts a brow and he smiles, remembering, maybe, all the late-night investigative sessions during which he brought her sustenance. Most of them turned into makeout sessions when he returned, on that couch right over there. “You can leave Doris behind to nap, if you want. She’ll keep me company.”

“Fair enough.” He smacks his knees decisively and stands. “In gratitude, just this once I’ll skip the massage.”

Doris whines when he goes, watching the door ease shut, but doesn’t try to follow. Veronica agrees with the sentiment.

The applicant search goes quickly; he’s right, they’re mostly tabloid reporters or stalkers-in-the-making, or star-struck teens ill-suited to pet ownership. After a while, Doris gets up and pads closer…leans against Veronica’s leg to study her with penetrating, miss-nothing eyes. V sighs, disconnecting her laptop from the power cord. Carries it out to the reception couch and sits, patting the cushion alongside. Doris hops up and curls into a ball, putting her chin on Veronica’s leg, and she strokes the plush, red-and-white fur as she works.

“Well this is a domestic scene,” Logan says, who knows how much later, startling Veronica from her contemplation of the busy printer. When she turns, he’s standing in the doorway, as if maybe he’s been watching for a while. “I’m relieved to know I wasn’t missed. Here, to demonstrate my thanks I got all your favorites. Basil beef, extra egg rolls, and coconut bubble tea.”

“Mmm, gimme.” Veronica tears open the bag he plants on the coffee table as he settles beside her. Doris flips upside-down onto his lap; he curls his hands around her face to kiss her nose, and the dog pastes herself against his leg.

“Any luck?” He sips his own pale-green drink, setting out containers of sauce.

Veronica hands him the stack of not-no’s, appropriating a tiny dish of sweet-and-sour for the first of many egg rolls. “I’m about halfway done.”

He sets his drink aside and pages through. “Candi?” He scoffs, tossing the application on the floor. “Rejected based on name alone, call me judgmental if you must. Hmmm, Bob Sullivan–nope, sports writer. He’ll be out covering games every night, while my girl sits home alone. Aaaand Sally Murphy, teacher-slash-single-mom, with one daughter, age fifteen. Uh-uh, strike three. Mom and kid will both be dating within a year, and all this pet-desiring neediness will evaporate.” He makes a presto-my-hands-are-empty gesture. “How many candidates are left?”

“Twenty-nine,” she says, with a sigh. “I’ll vet them after I eat. Beats going home and watching Dog the Bounty Hunter while Dad naps in his chair.”

Logan laughs, turns sideways on the couch to better converse. “So how’s life, Veronica? How’s Stanford?”

She cocks her head, considering. Piz’s passive-aggressive inflection would have been, _how’s life improved now that I’m not in it,_ which is why there’s no longer a Piz wasting her time. But Logan asks without judgment, and as if he actually cares.

“Difficult.” She decides on the honest response. “Even for an academic overachiever like myself, which is novel. The material’s interesting—I’ve chosen a Psych major, I’m sure you’ll agree that’s wise. But it’s not…I don’t know, fun? There’s no thrill like I feel when I’m solving cases. Which sounds nitpicky, I know, but…ugh. How’s school for you?”

She expects to hear he’s dropped out, but instead he replies, “Kicking my ass. I switched to a more technical major, so I don’t do much but study. It’s surprised everyone around me, however, that I don’t suck at knuckling down.”

“Technical, you say?” Veronica lifts brows, because Logan rarely ATTENDED class in years prior, much less challenged himself. “Like…marine biology?”

“Um.” He glances away as if…embarrassed? “Aerospace engineering. Like I said—it’s a shock to everyone, so I don’t blame you for that, uh, stare of blank incomprehension.” He gestures at her, up and down. “But I want to be a pilot, maybe someday an astronaut. So this is step one.”

“Well,” she says, in shock, afraid her reaction seems maybe a bit Piz-like. “Wow. Cute dog, live-in girlfriend who’s a household name, good grades in a stereotypically-demanding field. Sounds like me ceasing to nag and hightailing it out of town was the best thing that ever happened to you, Echolls.”

“Shows what you know.” He rolls his eyes. “If it wasn’t for you bullying me into better behavior, I’d still be burning pools.”

“Pshaw.” She smiles, chagrined, and he solemnly shakes his head.

“No, I’m serious.” He ducks to catch and hold her gaze. “It’s why I’m here today. Because whenever I have a problem I don’t know how to fix, and I can’t count on anyone else…I’m always sure, deep down, I can count on you.”

“Count on me to run when things get tough,” she mutters, plunging both hands self-protectively into Doris’s fur. The dog lifts her head to lick V’s wrist.

“But Veronica.” He frowns as if puzzled. “You didn’t run. You’ve come home every summer, even though we don’t hang. You’re helping Keith, solving cases, right now.”

She stares at him, something painful in her chest cracking open at his sincere admiration. And realizes if Logan thinks so highly of her, she needs to give him cause.

“You know what?” She sets down the chopsticks she’s just unwrapped. “I have an apartment in College Terrace, and I spend most of my time at home, studying. Also, every day I go for a long jog. If you want, Logan, I can keep your dog. You and I feel the same way about animals; you must realize you can trust me to take care of her.”

He studies V’s face for a moment, eyes going warm and soft, then looks down at the sleeping dog. Says, “Excuse me for a minute?” and, pulling his phone from his pocket, walks outside.

He’s gone more than ten—long enough for Veronica to wolf down half her dinner and start a list of pet supplies—then returns making a rueful grimace. “What was that?” she asks, as he re-settles.

Logan offers a lopsided grin, picking up his curry. “Change of plans. You don’t need to finish the searches, I’ll be keeping Doris after all. How much do I owe you for the work you’ve done?”

“Wait, what?” She wipes a dab of sauce off her knuckle with a napkin. “I thought the live-in girlfriend mandated Doris had to go?”

“She did,” he says, watching Veronica with uncomfortable acuity. “And I’ve been rationalizing that for weeks, because she seems like a decent person…or at least more decent than, say, Caitlin Ford. But you just made me realize someone who actually cares about my dog, about my FEELINGS, wouldn’t lay down painful ultimatums. Someone who actually cares would figure out a way to compromise, even at personal expense. So I phoned Monica to tell her the moving-in thing wouldn’t work—after which she called me a douchebag, and swore by morning I’d be replaced. Overall, I think it went well. I’ll make Dick drop her stuff at her condo tomorrow; he still owes me for the last time I posted his bail.”

Logan smiles at V over his drink, unfazed, and she can’t help but laugh. “Nobody’s ever going to accuse you of being indecisive.”

“Nope.” He examines his hand, sucks clean a sticky spot at the base of his thumb. “I know what I want. And I’m thinking maybe it’s better if I wait to get relationship-serious until someone I DO want…wants me back.”

“Well, now that you’ve gotten your act together,” Veronica says slowly, “I doubt you’ll have to wait long. Because who WOULDN’T like the guy you’ve become?”

“You tell me, Veronica.” His voice dips lower and softens. “Do YOU know anyone uninterested in the guy I’ve become? Like maybe because I’ve disappointed before, or they aren’t sure these lifestyle changes will stick?”

“My mind’s a blank,” she says, somewhat breathlessly, and the smile he favors her with this time is intimate. It’s the one she sees sometimes in her dreams, the really good kind that lead to happy endings.

“So how much longer are you in town this summer?” He picks his food back up and stirs it with chopsticks. “Long enough to hang out? Because there’s a showing of The Big Sleep at the Paramount tomorrow. If I remember correctly, you love that movie. And I’ve both got tickets and am unexpectedly free.”

“That sounds nice,” she says softly, and his smile deepens, even though he doesn’t look at her. Doris glances up, though, as if roused by the current passing between them, barks once before drifting back to sleep.

They eat in peaceful harmony, as the sun finally sets past the window. And Veronica lets anticipation build, basking in non-case-related thrills she thought were gone for good.


End file.
